


Thy Form Excuses It

by octaviamatilda



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Breeding Kink, Dirty Talk, Feminization, First Time, Hair-pulling, Half-Sibling Incest, M/M, Miscommunication, Painful Sex, Rough Sex, Spit As Lube, Swearing, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 05:55:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19312000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octaviamatilda/pseuds/octaviamatilda





	Thy Form Excuses It

To the Fair Clorinda

Who Made Love To Me  
Imagin’d More Than Woman

Fair lovely Maid, or if that Title be  
Too weak, too Feminine for Nobler thee,  
Permit a Name that more Approaches Truth:  
And let me call thee, Lovely Charming Youth.  
This last will justifie my soft complainte,  
While that may serve to lessen my constraint;  
And without Blushes I the Youth persue,  
When so much beauteous Woman is in view  
Against thy Charms we struggle but in vain  
With thy deluding Form thou giv’st us pain,  
While the bright Nymph betrays us to the Swain.  
In pity to our Sex sure thou wer’t sent,  
That we might Love, and yet be Innocent:  
For sure no Crime with thee we can commit;  
Or if we shou’d – thy Form excuses it.  
For who, that gathers fairest Flowers believes  
A Snake lies hid beneath the Fragrant Leaves. 

Thou beauteous Wonder of a different kind,  
Soft Cloris with the dear Alexis join’d;  
When e’er the Manly part of thee, wou’d plead  
Thou tempts us with the Image of the Maid,  
While we the noblest Passions do extend  
The Love to Hermes, Aphrodite the Friend. 

Aphra Behn 

 

Jon was surprised to find Robb already returned. When he opened the door, rather incautiously since expecting to find only solitude on the other side of it, Jon kicked his boots off and began to pluck at the ties of his jerkin before he noticed the lump in the bed. He paused, ears pricked for the sound of slumber-steady breathing. The dim glow from the smouldering hearth was the only source of light, and by it Jon could just make out the long body shifting beneath the furs. Robb said nothing, seeming undisturbed.

Down to his long underclothes, Jon padded silently to the bed.

‘If you’re trying to be quiet, you’re not doing a very good job.’

Jon grimaced, though he could hear Robb’s smile. Having already woken him, Jon felt he might as well drop another log or two on the low-banked fire. The castle was freezing, in spite of the great number of bodies in it. King Robert and his whole bloody retinue were nought but burden and no benefit as far as Jon could see, though he’d never say so. He didn’t mind being obliged to share with Robb – found it a comfort in fact, as he had when they were children – but he couldn’t fail to notice the stress under which this visit had placed his father. And Lady Stark. If she had not commanded he stay away from the feast, he would have betaken himself to the stables or the armoury anyway. He could not have borne a whole evening attempting to ignore her tight glances across dishes of meat and cups of wine. 

Jon approached the bed but before he could open his mouth Robb slid silently to the other side, nearest the shuttered window. As often, Jon was touched at Robb’s kindness. Theon would have snorted and insisted he climb over to take the cold spot. He luxuriated briefly in the skin-warm furs where Robb’s body had been – more grateful than he could say after several hours in exile from the heat of the hall – and turned to face Robb. His brother’s features, fine in profile, were just discernible in the darkness. His eyes were closed but Jon knew he had not yet returned to sleep.

‘I didn’t think you’d be back for hours. If at all.’ Jon spoke quietly.

‘Oh?’ Robb’s eyes remained closed but Jon felt he could see the amusement in them nonetheless. They opened slowly as Robb turned his head on the pillow. ‘You thought you’d have the room to yourself, to bring a lass back?’

Jon scoffed, though he wasn’t sure he quite meant to. ‘If anyone’s off lifting the skirts of the serving girls, it’s you, my Lord Stark.’ Jon gave Robb their father’s title when they were in a mood to tease, and Robb’s impulse to be cock of the walk – usually outdone by Theon – got the better of him.

‘Fuck you.’ Robb kicked him lightly in the shin, but they were both grinning. It was the first time Jon had smiled all night. 

‘Where were you?’ Robb sounded suddenly solemn.

‘The stables.’ 

‘Ah, sticking your cock in the fillies instead then?’ 

Jon shoved him hard and Robb only let out a gust of laughter, putting up no resistance to the sharp thump in the shoulder. 

‘Truce?’ Robb smiled good naturedly, twisting onto his side to face Jon properly. 

‘Aye. Truce. Why did you come back so early?’

‘I was tired’, Robb said simply. Jon raised an eyebrow. ‘And, yes, Theon made off with a lass I had hopes for.’ 

‘Knew it.’ 

Jon watched the flash of Robb’s white teeth as he grinned broadly. ‘You should have seen her though. Long dark hair. Green eyes. Huge tits.’ Robb gestured crudely with his hands and Jon was thankful it was too dark for his brother to discern the blush on his hot face. 

‘What was her name?’ If it seemed like a naive question when it left his mouth, Jon was relieved that Robb appeared to pay that no mind. 

‘I didn’t get the opportunity to find out. I doubt Theon did either, though he had his face in her cunt when I tripped over his feet in the corridor by the kitchens.’ 

Jon couldn’t restrain the guffaw that burst out of him and Robb joined in, both of them shaking with mirth. 

‘If you had seen him—trying to scramble his way out of her skirts. He was terrified I was our father.’ Robb was breathless with laughter, grasping Jon by the wrist. ‘Or Mother. Seven hells, can you imagine—’ Robb could barely speak, convulsing with amusement, ‘having to face down Mother with some serving girl’s juice dripping off your chin. I think my cock would shrivel up and fall off with embarrassment.’ 

Jon let himself be dragged along with Robb’s joy, and calmed too when the laughter faded out into a hiccup, a sigh, and a smile. Robb’s hand still gripped his wrist, lightly, and lighter – until it slipped away to better rearrange his pillow. Their heads were pushed close together now, like snickering ponies butting for attention and comfort.

It felt conspiratorial, silly. It was pleasing, as though they were still boys, Jon thought. 

‘You’d have got clean away with it.’ Jon thought of Theon’s bravado, then, and the way that he waved it around with such effort – and Robb, who had nothing to prove. ‘If it had been me, I needn’t have worried about my cock falling off with the shame of it. Your Lady Mother would have sliced it off for me.’ 

‘I bloody well would not have got away with anything! You can get as many bastards as you like on as many girls as you can find. It doesn’t matter to Mother what you do. But the Heir of Winterfell…’

Jon knew Robb hadn’t meant it to sting but he was not quick enough, nor the room sufficiently black, to successfully hide his hurt expression. Robb was as observant as ever. 

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.’ 

Robb searched for his eyes - Jon could feel the cant of his head – but he wished to keep the embarrassment to himself. Just for another moment, while he gathered his courage.

‘Jon?’ Robb’s hand nudged at his shoulder. 

‘I know you didn’t.’ Jon gave a small smile and Robb returned it, visibly pleased he had not caused a rift. Jon licked his lips before he spoke. His voice was barely above a whisper. ‘And I won’t be getting bastards on anyone. I can’t find a girl who’ll let me so much as kiss her.’ Robb’s eyes were wide and solemn. ‘To have a bastard got on you by the Bastard of Winterfell. The worst shame they could imagine, so I was told.’ 

He watched Robb’s face, willing him not to laugh or make a joke of him. He could not have trusted Theon with this. ‘Why don’t you go to the brothel?’ Robb was entirely serious. ‘I won’t be able to sneak off with you but I can keep Theon distracted.’

Jon swallowed against the hot lump in his throat, momentarily stymied by his brother’s softness and his sharpness, his kindness and his quickness all at once.

‘I – I don’t want to have to pay for it. I want her to want it, you know?’

‘Aye.’ Robb spoke softly, understanding. ‘I know.’ 

Jon closed his eyes in relief. Robb’s voice came from the darkness. ‘I am sorry, though. I had no idea they looked on you so unkindly. You never said so.’

When Jon opened his eyes, Robb’s head was closer still and Jon could feel his breath. He smiled ruefully. ‘You get used to it.’ 

Robb made a considering noise in his throat, then turned onto his back with a soft whump. He threw his hand above his head, clearly meaning to perform his thinking aloud. Jon waited. 

‘Do you want to try it? Kissing a girl?’

Flummoxed, but wondering where Robb could be leading him, he regarded his brother carefully. ‘Of course I do. Haven’t I said as much?’

Robb twisted to him with his bright smile, glinting in the dark. ‘Do you want to try it now?’

It didn’t seem to Jon that Robb was joking, but he didn’t know how to take his meaning. ‘What? You don’t have a girl hiding under the bed do you?’

‘Ha! Of course not, you daft bugger. I meant me.’ 

Jon’s stomach flipped over, and the burning lump was searing its way up his gullet again. Robb was watching him calmly and, desperate and wanting as he was, and feared that some dreadful prank was about to be sprung on him, Jon could think of nothing to do but jest. ‘I don’t know if you’ve passed a looking glass lately, but you aren’t exactly what I had in mind.’

Robb, somehow, had the grace not to look hurt. As his brother’s eyes roved over his face, Jon thought he knew why. He could only have been concealing his desire very poorly, for Robb merely shifted his body forward and cocked an eyebrow. ‘I’m handsome enough, aren’t I?’ 

Jon inhaled sharply at the heat pouring from Robb’s body, hovering but a hand’s span away. Robb knew very well how handsome he was. He was told so on a regular basis, by everyone. 

‘Aye.’ Jon choked the word out. Robb’s brow was almost touching his. ‘I never thought the first girl I’d kiss would have a beard though.’

Robb’s soft laughter washed warmly over his face, and Jon’s prick twitched in his underclothes. ‘I’d have shaved for you if I’d have known.’ 

‘Would you?’

Something in Jon’s voice seemed to catch on Robb, and he stopped smiling. Slowly, with deliberation, it seemed to Jon, Robb pulled him into an embrace. Jon sank his burning face against his brother’s shoulder and exhaled shakily through his nose. Robb dropped a gentle kiss on the top of his head. ‘There’s very little I wouldn’t do for you. You’re my brother.’

They breathed together for a moment before Robb pulled away to meet his gaze. ‘Well?’, he asked kindly.

‘I – I don’t know what to do.’ Jon felt his heart might burst through his chest. ‘What do they like?’

Robb watched Jon’s mouth as he spoke and nosed forward until he was almost whispering against Jon’s lips. ‘Well, they don’t like to feel they’re being kissed by a corpse. You need to loosen up a bit or you’ll frighten her away before you get anywhere. Here.’

Jon had been trying, with a plainly discernible awkwardness, to keep his hips angled backwards and stop his fully hard prick from brushing against Robb, but the dutiful, proper and polite Heir of Winterfell paid that no mind when he planted a hand firmly in Jon’s back and heaved their bodies together. Jon hissed through his teeth when his prick, stiff as an iron rod, bumped against Robb’s own. They rutted and gasped blindly for one beat, two, three, before Robb halted them with a crushing grip on Jon’s upper arm. ‘Restraint.’ He panted, smiling. ‘Restraint, or you’ll be going at her like a mad thing in heat, it’ll be over before you blink and she won’t be coming back for more.’ 

Jon nodded dumbly, breathing heavily through gaping lips. 

‘Girls like it when you run your hands through their hair. Like this.’ Robb took Jon’s sweating palm and laced the fingers through his own curls. Jon, trembling in every limb, stroked through the soft strands, tugging gently when he met a tangle. Robb tipped his head with the snagging movement and made a sharp noise in his throat.  
‘Sorry, sorry. I’m – not very good at this.’ Jon fumbled, attempting to disentangle himself. 

‘No, no.’ Robb clutched at Jon’s wrist, returning his hand where Robb wanted it. ‘It’s good. It’s a – a strange thing. The lasses, when you do this,’ Robb pushed Jon’s hand through his dampening curls like a comb, and putting a clutching, guiding pressure on Jon’s fingers, showed him how to grip and tug with the right force, ‘it calms them, and gets them hot for you all at once.’ 

Jon watched, rapt, as Robb’s eyes drooped closed and his mouth formed a dreamy smile. He stroked and clutched and tugged on Robb’s hair, conscious of the tiny flinches – barely there, like a fish on a line – of his brother’s hips on each jagged pass of Jon’s fingers through a knot or a patch that wouldn’t yield.

‘And,’ Robb spoke, though he seemed unable to open his eyes, ‘if she’s the kind of girl who likes to be tugged around a bit, she might already be soaking wet.’

The question was out of Jon’s mouth before he could stop it. ‘And what kind of girl are you?’

Robb grinned, opened his eyes and let his gaze fall to Jon’s mouth. ‘Seven hells’, Robb groaned when Jon’s fingers flexed tightly in his hair, ‘I’ve always thought you had the best intuition of us all.’ He laughed lightly. ‘Except you never bloody use it when it counts.’ 

‘Don’t laugh at me.’ Jon was smiling against Robb’s mouth, voice low and raw. He wished so fervently to kiss him. ‘You’re not being a very good teacher, you know.’  
Robb rolled his eyes good naturedly. ‘Aye. Here then.’ He turned onto his back, pulling Jon with him. Laid atop him, Jon couldn’t help but grind down into the cradle of Robb’s pelvis, rubbing their pricks together through the thinness of their underclothes. Robb snapped his head back and moaned, throaty and alarmingly loud, and Jon thrust harder for it. 

‘None of that.’ Robb was panting like a dog but recovered himself quickly, steadying Jon with fingers of iron that dug into his hips. ‘I’m not opening my legs for you yet, Jon Snow.’ Robb lifted his chin, mock haughtiness in the tilt of his jaw. ‘Not until you treat me like a proper lady and kiss me.’ 

Jon snorted ungracefully, but in pausing for a moment, and watching Robb carefully, a curious feeling began to branch through his chest: it was a recognition, of the tension, and the need, and the vulnerability that made Robb thrum as though he were a plucked string. Just as they shivered through Jon himself. Robb, he realised, had volunteered himself for reasons one could say were not entirely honourable, and Jon ought to have minded, but he didn’t. He regarded his brother; patient, and still, and hungry. And, in the barely perceptible parting of his lips, begging for understanding. 

With the gentlest of movements, Jon bent down and pressed his mouth softly to Robb’s. Instantly, Robb arched up, looking for something firmer, it seemed, and trying to push his tongue past Jon’s lips. 

He wouldn’t allow it, retreating until Robb’s head left the pillow in the attempt to follow and a moan of frustration burst from him. 

Jon decided to take a risk. He reared away, shifting back to stand up on his knees and a flash of worry moved across Robb’s face. 

‘Have – have you changed your mind?’ Robb began to sit up. ‘I shouldn’t have pushed you, I – ’

Without warning, Jon hooked a hand behind Robb’s knees and yanked him down the bed. Shoving his thighs open with his own knees, Jon pushed Robb on his back properly, forcing his brother to splay his legs around him. Robb was gasping for air, and Jon thanked any gods that were listening that Robb hadn’t reacted with anger to his presumption. On the contrary, he was wide eyed, mouth hanging open and clutching at Jon with an unmistakeable eagerness. 

Feeling quite outside himself, Jon leered over Robb, planting a hand next to his head with careful menace. ‘I think I know just what kind of girl you are.’ Jon watched Robb’s eyes flutter shut. Dangerous, foolish, he kept going. ‘Don’t look away. You’re very pretty.’ The click of Robb’s throat as he swallowed seemed as loud as the clang of a blade. ‘Look at me.’ 

Robb met his gaze; his eyes were softer, shyer than usual. They dipped again, deferential. Flattered. Jon fervently hoped that Robb knew what he was doing, that he was guiding this with a silent hand even as it seemed he was having the reins taken from him. He laid a restrained kiss on Robb’s lips, then quite suddenly snagged his hand in his curls, wrenching unkindly. Robb gave a strange noise, high and girlish: the sound went straight to Jon’s prick, twitching and leaking where it pressed against the inside of Robb’s thigh. 

‘That’s what kind of girl you are.’ Jon repeated the sharp tug and Robb’s hand shot upwards, clutching desperately at Jon’s closed fist. Robb gave a jerky, limited nod. He was gazing up at Jon with what seemed appalling gratitude, given the circumstances. Robb had not a cruel bone in his body, and no taste for it any form. Nor did Jon. Or so he had believed. 

‘Yes.’ Robb’s voice cracked. His damp fingers flexed over Jon’s. ‘That’s the kind of girl I am.’

Jon’s eyes wedged themselves closed – quite out of his control – as he butted his forehead gently against Robb’s. He could scarcely comprehend himself; he wished to laugh, and to cry. This was ridiculous, and he should have stopped it the moment it started. Lady Stark would gut him from cock to chin should she know what her husband’s bastard was about with her firstborn. Assuming their father didn’t strike his head from his shoulders first. He must go.

Jon began to pull away, releasing Robb. The piteous noise he made set Jon’s stomach to clench, and Robb reached for him. 

‘Don’t… we don’t have to do this. We can just lie here, if you like.’ Robb rose to his elbows. ‘Jon. I didn’t…’ Robb pushed up then to sit cross legged before him. ‘I didn’t intend to offend you. Truly.’ 

‘Offend me?’ Jon blinked. ‘I’m the offender, if anyone. What if anyone found out about this? How could we ever explain it? Even as little as we’ve done.’ Jon gestured vaguely; they were both still hard and aching, and a wet spot had been growing on the front of Robb’s underclothes. 

Robb swallowed, his brows drawing together in distress. ‘I thought you wanted to.’ 

From anyone else, it would have seemed manipulative. But neither of them had any guile, and they both knew it. 

‘I did. I do.’

‘Well then,’ and Robb lunged forward, using the strength of the practice yard to grip Jon’s forearm, to twist it and pull, and lever Jon beneath him in one swift move. ‘Let us do what you want to do.’ Robb regarded him cautiously, then pushed down against him, grinding his prick forcefully and putting his weight into the wrestling hold he had on Jon’s wrists. ‘Do - do you prefer it like this?’ 

The quaver in Robb’s voice – uncertain, smarting, loving – and at odds with the violence of his movements, broke Jon’s resolve. Whatever the state of his conscience come the morning, he would smother it for now, and be damned should the gods decide so.

‘I’d let you do whatever you liked to me. You’re my brother, and I trust you.’ Jon craned his head up, brushing his lips against the underside of Robb’s jaw, feeling the flutter of his pulse. Gently, he scraped his teeth against the stubbled skin and Robb grunted. ‘But, I don’t think that’s what you really want.’ 

Having shattered Robb’s concentration, Jon broke his grip and slipped free. Swiftly, before Robb could muster a defence, Jon shoved his brother down on his belly, keeping him pliant with a fist jammed hard in his hair. 

Robb cried out, throat curved and panting to deal with the sharp pain. ‘Jon?’

Laid out heavily across Robb’s back, Jon slurred, low and dirty in his ear, ‘what a beautiful thing you are. I bet all the boys tell you so, don’t they?’ Jon shook Robb’s head, making a show of his frustration at Robb’s lack of response. ‘How many of them have you let get at your pretty cunt, hm?’

Robb writhed beneath him, pushing his arse back against Jon’s prick. ‘No one.’ He sounded wrecked. ‘No one’s touched me.’ 

‘Shall we find out?’ Jon bit harshly at Robb’s shoulder and he whined pitifully but nodded. 

Jon took a moment, disguising his steadying breath by kissing a wet path across Robb’s back. Robb knew what he meant to do next, he was sure of it. He knew, too, that he ought to ask but to risk spoiling the illusion now seemed to Jon a waste of the courage that he had pulled into himself to get even this far. If there was any price to pay for this, it would be the incorrigible Bastard of Winterfell made to settle the debt: he sank his teeth into the flesh at Robb’s hip, earning him an obscenely loud moan and a muffled ‘please.’ Then let the debt be worth it, Jon thought. 

Without warning, he tugged Robb’s underclothes down to the back of his thighs and slid two fingers between the cheeks of his arse. The heat of his hole made Jon’s stomach turn over and his prick jump; it seemed impossibly tight and for a moment or two Jon stumbled over the sense of purpose that a heartbeat since had seemed as certain as the sky above the earth. Now he felt so helplessly ignorant in the midst of his own lechery that he considered withdrawing and changing tack. Robb made the decision for him. 

‘See?’ Robb sounded distant and unlike himself, his voice pitched a little higher. ‘I’ve not let anyone touch me.’ He canted his hips back, pushing his arse in the air as well as he could while still hobbled by his underclothes. 

‘Let’s get these off and see, then.’ Jon skimmed the material all the way off Robb’s legs and away. ‘Spread your legs for me.’ Robb yelped when Jon laid a harsh smack on his arse, pre-empting with deliberate cruelty Robb’s efforts to comply. ‘I said open your fucking legs.’ 

Robb’s hands were fisted in the bedclothes and his backside curved up, smooth and high and urgent, and his knees pushed wide on the bed. He could never be mistaken for a girl, too broad in the shoulders, too strong in the back and his arse was furred and muscled from training. But as everything, it seemed to Jon, was held in suspension tonight – his conscience, his sense of right, Robb’s prerogative of place, his knowledge of the danger of what they were doing – so his disbelief, too, could be lulled to sleep. Jon ran his hands gently up the slope of Robb’s back, and he quivered and undulated like a cat beneath Jon’s fingers.

‘You want this very badly, don’t you?’ Jon murmured. His fingertips glided down into the crevice of Robb’s arse and rubbed firmly over his hole. There was a hitch of breath from his brother, his face pressed into the furs of the bed. ‘You’ve not let anyone at your pretty cunt, like a good girl,’ Jon wet his fingers in his mouth hastily, ‘but it’s been killing you.’ Using his middle finger, he put as much pressure as he dared on Robb’s hole, which was little enough, and just the tip sank in as the muscle gave way. 

Robb bucked and groaned. He didn’t sound pained but Jon could hardly see how they would get anything more than a finger in there. It was as tight as a drum, and though Robb whimpered and arched and moaned like a girl, he wasn’t wet like a girl. He had known this when he slammed Robb over on his belly, and knew too that they had nothing like oil or grease on hand. A tallow candle might have served but Robb’s room wasn’t so furnished this evening, anything not needful having been commandeered for the royal guests. 

His brother may have been a poor teacher, but Jon was a poor pupil. Restraint. Intuition. He could have laughed, were his prick not throbbing and his brother twitching and desperate beneath him. Were Robb a lass, she’d have fled already. Action, then.

Jon leaned over and hauled Robb up on to his knees, pressing his front to Robb’s back and snaking a strong arm up across his chest to grip his throat. Robb’s head flopped back onto Jon’s shoulder, though he was breathing heavily. Jon’s other hand skimmed down over Robb’s taut stomach and when he gripped his prick, Robb pushed into his hand. ‘Please, please. Jon.’ He thrust in Jon’s loose hold, and he was quivering, frantic, but sounding more like himself. ‘For pity’s sake.’ 

Jon forced Robb’s head round, his mouth on Robb’s as he whispered. ‘Tell me how you want it, and I’ll do it.’ 

Robb’s eyes flickered between Jon’s eyes and his mouth, and Jon fought the tremor in his own limbs as held his brother in an iron grip. Wordlessly, Robb peeled Jon’s hand from his neck, held out the palm in front of his face and without hesitation spat a large gob of saliva into Jon’s palm. Jon curled his fingers slightly, trying to maintain what he had as Robb guided his hand down to his own arse. Nudging his knuckles between Robb’s cheeks, Jon smeared spit across Robb’s hole and on the second pass, he pushed the tips of two fingers inside him. 

‘If you don’t fuck me,’ Robb panted, ‘I’m going to go mad.’ 

Jon huffed a gentle laugh against the side of Robb’s neck, and felt his brother smile too.

‘Again.’ Jon held his palm in front of Robb’s face, who dutifully hocked up another mouthful. Jon, managing to tuck his underclothes beneath his balls with his thumb, slid his handful over his prick, grunting at the feel of it. He placed himself against Robb’s hole then, and nudged forward. Robb gasped and Jon gritted his teeth at the sensation of Robb’s arse flexing against the head of his prick. 

A hand clutched at Jon’s wrist, and he paused. His heart was thundering in his ears. 

‘I’ve heard it hurts.’ Robb murmured. He turned his head, speaking against Jon’s cheek. ‘Don’t stop unless I tell you to though.’ Jon nodded, feeling grave and careless all at once. Robb bumped his nose against Jon’s, seeking for his lips. Their mouths met and parted gently, and Jon could feel the heat of Robb’s shamefaced blush when he mumbled, ‘I want you to fill my cunt.’ 

Jon could have spent himself right then, but he breathed, and waited and allowed a calmness to find him. In his mind, he squared himself as though preparing for a sparring match, setting himself in the right state -- to be alert, to be aware of his limbs, his lungs, his heart. Jon pressed his face against the back of Robb’s neck, grasped his prick in his hand, and pushed into his brother. 

He sank in perhaps an inch, and a shocked shout burst out of Robb. Jon was already panting as though he had run a mile, and sweat beaded on his throat. He gritted his teeth against the pleasure, waited, but Robb said nothing. Drawing out, Jon thrust back in slightly deeper: Robb gave a pained cry and clawed at the arm that Jon had hooked around his stomach. Terrified that someone might hear, Jon clamped a hand over Robb’s mouth, and thrust again. The tight heat of it was almost unbearable and Robb’s muffled whimper was sickening. 

‘Robb, I can’t do this.’ His hand slid from Robb’s mouth to his chest. ‘I’m hurting you. I won’t do it.’ Jon began to pull away but Robb seized a handful of his backside and kept him in place. 

‘Did I tell you to stop?’ Robb’s voice was cracked with pain and his ribs were shuddering with his shallow breaths but he wouldn’t relent. ‘Just – ’ Robb spat into his own hand this time, and fumbled down to spread it around his stretched hole and the length of Jon’s prick that remained. ‘Stay still, alright?’ 

Jon nodded, unsure, but planted his knees firmly and gripped Robb’s hips. Robb slid back, slowly, slowly, taking his prick all the way and hissing and gasping as he went. Jon was simply trying not to burst, fighting the urge to shove Robb down and just plough into him.

‘Gods, Robb, can I move?’ Jon choked out. 

Robb slumped down onto all fours, offering no answer but an abrupt slide and shove of his hips, fucking himself on Jon’s prick. The moan that wrenched itself from Robb’s chest was, to Jon’s immense relief, more pleasure than pain on the next pass and so Jon curled over Robb’s back, placing a delicate kiss on his damp skin. He mumbled, ‘I’m going to fuck your cunt. Is that what you want?’ 

‘Yes.’ Robb’s head hung down, his voice scratchy. ‘Please. Just do it.’ 

‘Say it.’ Jon leaned heavily over him, placing a hand in between his shoulder blades and forcing him onto his belly. ‘Say you want me to fuck your cunt.’ He dipped his voice to a sordid pitch, as vulgar as he could, and breathed hotly against Robb’s cheek. ‘Say you want me to fuck your pretty cunt.’

Robb shuddered and writhed, gasping. ‘Please. I want you to fuck my cunt.’ His hips twitched back as he spoke. ‘Just fill me up. You can put a bastard in me, I don’t care. Please, my lord.’

Jon’s gut lurched with an obscene swell of pleasure at Robb’s desperate mewling and holding him down by his neck, Jon pulled back and slammed into his arse with a groan. Robb moaned like a girl, hands scrabbling at the furs as Jon shoved into him with enough force to make the bedstead complain. 

‘Like this?’ Jon grunted.

Robb seemed beyond words, only the right side of his face visible as he nodded. He gaped and gasped like a landed fish, his eyes unfocused and unseeing, it seemed to Jon. Half worried, half mad with want, Jon needed a response. He needed Robb’s voice. 

‘No, that won’t do.’ Jon raked his fingers up into Robb’s hair, his other hand pinning his brother’s hips to the bed. He fucked him, hard and steady, as he spoke. 

‘When I talk to you, you answer me.’ Jon laved his tongue across the back of Robb’s shoulders, his neck, panting against his salty skin. ‘When your lord is inside your cunt, you speak to him.’ 

Robb swallowed, struggling in his pleasure. ‘Please, please.’ He gritted his teeth on a sharp, heavy thrust from Jon. ‘It hurts.’ 

Jon slowed his pace, disquieted and doubtful suddenly, at Robb’s tone. He dropped his forehead against his brother’s temple. ‘Do you want me to stop?’

‘No, no.’ Robb twisted his head up to push his face against Jon’s. ‘By the seven, it hurts.’ He murmured hot against Jon’s damp cheek. ‘It’s supposed to hurt though. When you lose your maiden head.’ 

Jon grasped Robb gently by the jaw, forcing a direct gaze. For a long wordless moment, Jon searched Robb’s face, his wet open mouth, his liquid eyes, his pinked cheeks. Without speaking, Jon asked, and, mutely understanding, Robb answered. Jon gave a small nod to himself, swallowing as he pulled Robb’s lips to his. He forced his tongue into Robb’s mouth, who parted eagerly for him. Jon could never deny Robb anything.

‘Complain all you like.’ Jon growled, abruptly savage, hauling Robb up onto his hands and knees. ‘You opened your legs for me. I’m not going to stop until you’ve got what you asked for.’ He thrust into Robb, quick and brutal, hissing at the feeling. ‘You want your cunt full of my seed.’ Jon fucked into him mercilessly, panting and grunting out his words. ‘You’ll get it.’ He yanked his brother back sharply by the hips, his fingers slipping slightly in sweat. Robb was moaning on every thrust, keening like one of the bitch-hounds when the dogs got at them in their heat and arching back just the same, his fine curls bouncing with each jagged, desperate shove.

‘Please. My lord. Please. I can’t take it.’ Robb sobbed out. 

Jon couldn’t see his face, but the catch in his voice gave Jon the impression that Robb might actually be crying. Something in Jon splintered at the sound of it; he felt nasty, barbed, powerful. Not crass and selfish and half ignorant like Theon always seemed when he bragged about fucking this girl or that, but just…full and vile and black. Robb cried out again, and Jon knew then that he was blubbering. A wet shaking hand came back to grip Jon’s hip and he grasped Robb’s fingers.

‘I – I want ’, Robb choked on his words, ‘I want your seed. Please. Put a child in me.’ Robb’s head drooped down, a whimpering, sorrowing sound boiling its way out of his chest.

Jon felt he wanted to howl, roar, show his teeth, rend the skin on his brother’s back with his fingernails. Something, something. He curled over Robb then, twining an arm beneath his heaving chest and up onto his shoulder to pull him back onto his prick. Hardly knowing what he was saying, he poured filth into Robb’s ear as he thrust. ‘I’m going to fucking breed you, you hear me? I’m going to fuck a child into you, and your cunt will be fucking dripping with my seed. Is that what you want?’ Jon gritted his teeth when he felt Robb clench around him at that. ‘I’m going to fill your belly with my bastard and everyone will know. Everyone will know who it is you opened your cunt for.’ Jon’s gut was clenching, the tightness between his legs spreading almost up to his throat as he neared his peak. ‘And I’m going to keep filling you even as your belly swells.’ He bit at Robb’s ear, the body shaking beneath him. ‘I’ll split you on my prick every day. I’ll be in you always. Always, you hear me?’

‘Jon!’ Robb wailed, thrashing and sobbing as he spent untouched onto the furs. 

Jon followed him down as he collapsed, growling at the pulsing grip of Robb’s arse on his prick. 

‘Here, here.’ Jon plastered himself to Robb’s slick back, gasping. ‘It’s yours. Have it. It’s yours.’ All was lost, white, vanished in a blizzard as Jon spent, his whole body wracked with spasms as he poured his seed into Robb’s body. When his sight and sense returned to him, Jon prised himself gingerly away from his brother, slipping from his arse gently. Robb made a low noise but was otherwise still, boneless where he lay on his belly. 

Jon turned to him, pressed himself against Robb’s side. He prayed he had not gone too far.

‘Robb?’ He brushed the backs of his fingers lightly against his brother’s cheek, and his eyes fluttered open. A glorious smile split Robb’s handsome face but Jon could not match it.

‘Well?’ Robb’s voice was raw, his lips swollen from biting. His brows rose hopefully up his forehead. 

‘Seven hells, Robb.’ Jon pressed forward then, running his hands urgently over his brother’s shoulders, his back, his neck, pulling him into an embrace and gentling his fingers over his skin. Checking. Apologising. ‘Are you alright? Tell me you’re alright. That we’re alright.’

‘Jon…’

‘What I did to you, that was unforgivable.’ He ghosted his thumb across Robb’s cheek, pink and damp with drying tears. Jon felt close to weeping himself. ‘I made you cry, by all the gods. I – ’

‘You wanted someone who wanted it.’ Robb cut him off, bumping their noses together and smiling. ‘I wanted it. I did.’ He curled a hand in Jon’s hair, tugging gently. ‘I do.’


End file.
